


From Eden

by ManicPossum



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 04:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19899706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManicPossum/pseuds/ManicPossum
Summary: She was as wild and willful as the woods of her birth - as the woods she had so loved all those years ago. There was no force or magic that could tame her spirit. What hope did he have? For all his wisdom and raw power, for all the implications behind his title of Architect, he could never seem to create a lens with which he could make her see the truth he offered.(Major sadboi angst hours, Shadowbringers spoilers, and shameless smutfluff ahead!)





	From Eden

Emet-Selch watched from the shadows of the room at the Pendants as the Rava twirled to the music, the heels of her sandals clicking against the tiled floor to the beat. Her long silk robe billowed around her as she moved, the fabric flowing in a dance of its own. It hadn't struck him until this moment how truly _strange_ she appeared now. From the way her white hair contrasted against her bronze skin, to the leporine ears and feet common to all Viera - her present form was a mockery of her true self, and the beastial nature of it only added to the insult.

And yet, the way this pitiful, broken body glided through the air with such ease put the lie to the notion that this was not the woman he had loved so long ago. She moved just as ethereally as she had then, and he could not deny what was in front of him, desire to as he might. The passage of eons had done little to dim his memories of her, for hers was a soul that left its mark.

Upon thinking, he mused that perhaps her present form was yet another echo of who she had once been - a sign that the star itself could forget her no less than he. He remembered vividly that she had always loved the forest; from its towering trees, to the creatures that dwelled within its boughs. He remembered the garden that he had made for her, its flowers and herbs whose beauty had caused her to collapse into his arms, weeping tears of joy. He remembered how she danced upon the grass, the morning dew reflecting the light around her, and how she stretched out her hand, motioning for him to join her in her waltz.

He sighed. It was no use dwelling on the past now, not when so much had yet to be done to restore it. They were so close to another rejoining, so close to regaining what had been lost. And, he dared to hope, she was close to regaining the memory of who she was. Of all his losses and regrets, it was those regarding her that haunted him most. Part of him longed to resent her for the choices she had made - choices that had led them to their current… Situation. It would be easier to blame her, to have let the bitterness grow into hatred over the centuries, absolving him of some of the guilt he had felt. She was, after all, the one who had summoned Hydaelyn. It was her choice, or so logic stated.

Still, he bore the burden of that, too, upon himself. She had ever been a dreamer, lost in visions of the path ahead. It shouldn't have taken him by such surprise that she would oppose him in the end - he should have known, should have prepared. Where he had strove to maintain the certainty of what had been, her gaze was ever fixed upon an uncertain future. If he had done something, _anything_ , to make her understand, to prove that it was the only way, she would have listened. If only he had tried...

If, if, if. The 'if's of his life followed him like a shadow. He tried not to think upon them too deeply, lest he sink into despair. He much preferred to think upon the ‘when’. When his mission was complete, when the world was made whole again, when she would come back to him. The ‘when’s regarding her were some of the strongest motivators he had.

He found himself drifting into the ‘when’ of their reunion. He had memorized the scene to every last detail, rehearsed it with care over the years. There in the garden would they meet, surrounded by the beauty and serenity of its foliage, and there again would she collapse weeping into his arms once more. As they lay there, he would pull her tightly against him, stroking her hair as she begged for forgiveness. He would tell her that he had loved her through it all, that he had never given up hope that she would one day understand. He would tell her that he forgave her, for how could he not? She was ever his, and it was his mistakes that had led them to such sorrow just as much as hers. But, their fight was over, and all had been made right once more. Then would they dance in the grass, the light reflecting off the morning dew, illuminating a world restored to rightness. They would know again the joy that Hydaelyn had torn from them.

His daydreaming was interrupted by her voice echoing through the room. It was as strange as the rest of her current incarnation; it had the same cadence to it that it had always had, but her thick, rough accent on top of the crude language of mortals was jarring and alien to him. "Enjoying the show?" She spoke, the annoyance in her voice plain. Again he sighed, before stepping out of the shadows in a cloud of black and violet aether. He had rather hoped to be a silent observer - interacting with her proved to be a painful experience more often than not.

"More than you can imagine, _hero_." He offered a smile, sardonic though it may have been, and received a crossing of arms and a glare in response. "Between you, the Exarch, and--" she stopped herself mid-sentence, and he noted the brief flicker of emotion on her face, "--Well, I do grow tired of being constantly spied upon." He shrugged. "What can I say, except that I like to watch? Besides," he cocked his head, smile still present, "I would have thought a hero of your fame would grow to enjoy the attention."

The Viera rolled her eyes, her glare relaxing, as she spun on her heels away from him to move towards the orchestrion. "Was there something you needed, Ascian?" She briefly glanced over her shoulder as she walked forward, a flat expression on her face. He frowned. "Must I always need something? Am I so wrong for simply wishing to see how the vaunted hero of the Source spends what may be her final days?" He crossed his arms, studying her form as she sorted through orchestrion rolls. “Then perhaps while you are here, you could offer me a word of advice for the coming battle. Vauthry _is_ a Lightwarden of your own design.” She did not bother to look at him as she spoke.

The Ascian clicked his tongue. “You are far more proficient in the slaying of sin eaters than I. Fighting was never my strong suit. Besides, you are the Warrior of Light - or is it Darkness, now? - either way, you are the stuff of _legends_. There is little in the way of advice I could offer you.” He paused, waiting for a reply, but none seemed forthcoming. The stoicism she had been partial in her current role as the timeless hero frustrated him to no end. She had always been a complicated creature, equal parts fanciful optimism and acerbic wit. To see such a wild soul find itself lost to a mask of silent contemplation was a tragedy in itself. “With that said,” he continued, “how did you know I was here?”

She snorted. “I didn’t.” Placing a new roll of music into the orchestrion, she continued, “At least, I didn’t know it was you.” She clicked the orchestrion back on, before turning around to walk towards him, stopping barely a fulm away. Soft music began to flow through the room, and for a moment his mind began to drift again to memories of Amaurot.

"Back in Kholusia… You said I wouldn't remember. What exactly did that mean? What don't I remember?" He returned to the present. Her voice had a hint of sadness to it, as if some deep part of her spirit knew she had lost an important piece of herself. He studied her features, searching for the right words to say, though he knew there were none. The star had been fundamentally broken, and until it had been made whole again, no amount of words or explanations could ever suffice.

"Would you even believe me if I told you?" His voice had grown low and quiet. Her dark eyes burrowed into him. He longed to tell her the whole truth, to show her visions of those bygone days where they lived in a peace she could presently never understand. The memory of who she had been in the days of eld deserved better than to be lost in the mind of an old soul near-mad with grief.

She paused for a long moment. "I suppose not." Her words wounded him, truthful though they may have been. The orchestrion continued to play in the background, the music picking up pace into a waltz. Her pose relaxed, and she offered him a clawed hand. She spoke in a soft, sweet, _familiar_ tone that made him shiver. "Join me?"


End file.
